The Live-In One
by ilovemoriarty
Summary: Rebecca March and Jim Moriarty are best friends. They always have been and always will be. This tells their story through the eyes of Rebecca, a book-loving girl with the moral of most people, who has to cope with Jim's homicidal yearnings and learn to accept and love him for who he is. This story shows how Jim develops from an innocent, bullied child into the terrifying, psychotic
1. Introduction - I Love You

**"I love you,"**

He's my best friend. He might be an obsessive, changeable and downright terrifying psychopath, but he's my best friend. Contrary to common belief, he can actually be really nice. Underneath the tough, generally-homicidal exterior, there is an amiable man... somewhere. To prove this point, I would like to tell you a story, my story, Jim's story. Our story of how we got where we are now: me sat in our kitchen with a cup of green tea, waiting for Jim to text me and tell me how the Fall went.

"I love you," - his last words to me - "I love you."


	2. Where We Started

**I was a** lonely child. I'd get picked on by children and didn't have any brothers, sisters or friends to defend me. I'd spend my lunch and break times hiding in the classroom or the library or even the toilets if I was desperate. When I was 8, this all changed because of a new pupil in school. I knew instantly that he was different to the other children when he made his own colourful version of the Nativity called, if I remember correctly, 'The Hungry Donkey'. Jim had read it aloud to the class with such priode, with such a big grin on his face. I must admit, the gory details – in which he went into great depth – did make my stomach turn, but I still remember being the only one in the class who told him that it was a good story.

He was taken out of class for a while after that 'incident'. Children cried and parents complained so little Jim Moriarty was put in the 'special class'. He didn't have any friends either so he started to so the same thing as me: hide away. I used to read thick books with small type in the school library. I'd get lost in a world of literature for an hour a day and I was happy there, on my own with just the dusty, crowded book shelves for company. Except, one day, I wasn't alone.

"What are you reading?" A voice came from behind me. I jumped a little, startled, and then truened around to face them. It was, if you hadn't already guessed, Jim. His eyes were too big for his head and they were dark and glinted at me, a smile stuck on his small face. "That's a big book," he took it from me a tad forcefully and read the title aloud: " _'Wuthering Heights'_ ," he thought for a moment, "oh, I've heard of this. People die, don't they?"

"I don't know. I haven't started it yet."

"That's cool," he said and gave me the book back, "I know you're always here, reading. Would you like some company? Miss won't let me stay in class because I make too much mess apparently, and I don't like the other kids so I don't want to go with them."

"Uh, yeah, sure," I hesitated. I didn't really want anyone there with me; I had started to like my own company more than that of others. But, nevertheless, I agreed so he came and sat down beside me on a colourful chair. He looked unsure of what to do with himself while I carried on reading.

"Rebecca, isn't it?" He spoke up rather suddenly.

"Yeah," I looked at him.

"Jim Moriarty, hi!" He beamed happily, "but you probably already knew that."

"Yeah because you're always in trouble. Miss Simpson says not to speak to you because you might upset me."

"You weren't upset by the story though..." his head tilted to the side and I could tell that he was deep in thought, "why weren't you upset? Everyone else was, even Miss."

I shrugged casually, "I don't know, I guess it was kind of funny in a gross way."

"I'm glad you liked it."

I didn't like it, no-one did, but I wasn't about to correct him because it had made him very happy. So I smiled politely and continued to read. I became aware that he was fidgeting a lot: he was bored. So, spontaniously deciding to be social, I re-iniciated coversation, "do you have any friends?"

"No. My mum says that's because people are scared of me because I'm weird. But she's wrong. It's because _they're_ the weird ones. It's not my fault they don't understand me," he paused, "do you have any friends?" I shook my head in response, "not even one?" I repeated the action, "why?"

"They don't like me. I dunno why," I shrugged again and he smiled.

"I like you."

"You do?"

"Yeah, you're kind and funny. No-one else ever even tries to talk to me but you do."

"Thank you," I felt touched, "I guess I like you too."

And that's where we started. We very quickly became very close friends. We were in different classes, so still had to put up with other children, but we met up in the library each and every day. If we didn't want to talk, though we usually did, we would read. We were content in each other's company. We became the kind of friends that were okay to be silent with the other: there wasn't the constant need to talk. We were inseperable and happy like that. Except other people weren't.

 **"Rebecca, can you** come here, dear?" Mum called me from the kitchen. I followed her voice.

"Are you okay?" I asked, a little worried. I was never in trouble and her tone of voice felt like I was.

"I've just been on the phone to your teacher Miss Simpson," she gave me a look of disdain, "sit down, Becca," she instructed and I obeyed. "She told me that she'd worried about you. You've been spending a lot of time with the Moriarty child."

"Jim? He's my best friend."

"I know that, dear, but there are much better, much nicer people to be friends with. Trust me, that boy's trouble. It's written all over him."

Once my mother had her views on a subject, they wouldn't change. She was, and still is, very much set in her ways. I tried all evening to explain to her how Jim was actually very nice and that the other children were mean to me, but she refused to accept it.

"Rebecca, I don't care about whatever excuse you're about to give me. I don't want you to talk to that boy again, do you understand?"

I remember trying to stop the tears, "yes, mum." I resided to my room and spent the evening crying.

 **The next day,** I had to face Jim, my best and only friend, and tell him. I dreaded the bell that signified break time, contrary to all the months before. I went to the library, like usual, and he was already there. The grin on his face indicated to me that he had some interesting piece of news for me.

"Becca, you have to read my new story, it's about-"

"Jim, I'm sorry," I didn't sit down, "my mum said I can't talk to you any more. She says you're trouble. I'm sorry." Not bearing to look him in the eye, I stared at the floor and wiped my tears away. There was a silence between us that seemed to go on forever.

"She said that you can't talk to me?" He appeared to be working something out. I nodded, sniffing loudly. "That's okay," he was cheerful, causing me to look at him with alarm and hurt, "I'll just talk to you and you can listen. Or we can just sit in silence," he grinned mischieviously, "that way you're not breaking your mum's rule."

So I could truthfully tell my mum that I didn't speak to any more because I, technically, didn't.

 **We continued this** way, Jim talking to me and me listening but never speaking, until the Headmaster decided that his grades were high enough for him to be considered normal enough to join my class again. I was so happy and so was he when he came and sat by me. Other children were weary of him still, but he was generally accepted. Also, my mum lifted the silence rule upon hearing this news, so we were able to talk properly again, instead of surreptitiously having to find ways around it. Things were good.

"Becks, do you want to come out after school sometime? I've found this really cool place and I think you'll really like it."

So the next day I went with him after school. I expected that we'd be going to his house first, but he was reluctant, "no, no, let's go to the place I found." He lead me to the forrest that was about a 10 minute walk from school. The trees were tall and spaced-out like streetlights. The ground was a light brown and was dusted with needles of pine trees. We strayed from the path that walkers used and he showed me the spot. There was a waterproof sheet pinned to two small trees, forming a little shelter; a blue blanket lying on the floor; and a small, red and tattered sofa. "I think it has a lot of potential, don't you? We could make this our secret hiding place."

"Yeah!" I smiled, "we could get more blankets and sheets and pillows and make it really cool!" My imagination created a perfect little outdoor hiding place which became a reality after a few months of hard work. We would go there almost every day after school and would relax, doing our own thing. I would read and he would practise mathematics for people far older than he was at the time. Even back then, at the age of 10, Jim was showing clear signs of being a genius. He excelled and delighted in advanced algebra (my personal mortal enemy). He also picked up on things very quickly and with seeming ease.

He often picked up on sensitive things, like family problems and the like, but he could also tell if I'd changed my laces or toothbrush. He used to test this on the other children in my class. It was entertaining to begin with, but it became, all too quickly, very sinister. I recall him once making a girl cry after deducing her parent's recent divorce. At that point, I would definitely stop finding it funny, but Jim didn't seem to see any problem with it and continued upsetting her until I made him stop. The Headmaster kept him out of class after that for the day and gave him a week's detention. I remember being alone in the library again, like I was before he came along and changed my life. I remember not liking the solitude any more. Jim said to me later that didn't like it either. We had, in the space of 2 and a half years, become dependent on one another in a way that would effect the rest of our lives, which was, and still is, both a curse and a blessing. Thinking back to it, I could have and should havestarted realising how Jim was changing in a way that wasn't like the other people around me. It started young. By 11, Jim was showing signs of sociopathy. Jim was becoming the Jim that you know, that I know, that everyone knows: the evil Jim, the callous Jim, _the_ _killer Jim_.


	3. Carl Powers

**That September, we** joined the local comprehensive school. We didn't like primary school, but at least we had privacy there. Privacy was something that was difficult to get hold of in the big school. There were hundreds of more children there. We were the youngest there. It was all so new, so scary. So we made a pact.

"I, James Moriarty, solemnly promise to always be there for you and be your best friend forever, no matter what."

"I, Rebecca March, solemnly promise to always be there for you and be your best friend forever, no matter what," we each held an army knife to our left index finger.

"Ready?" He asked quietly and I nodded, "okay." Then we both cut our fingers. I flinched and breathed through my teeth sharply but he didn't react at all. Blood oozed from our flesh and we held our fingers together so it mixed together. He looked at me, reassurance in his eyes that the pain would be over soon and I would be okay. Then we said in unison: "no matter what life and secondary school throws at is, we will always be best friends. No matter what."

 **The pact may** have been slightly dramatic, but that's an excellent adjective for the both of us. Plus, it meant a lot to us. 'No matter what' became our mantra. It kept us going. We told and convinced ourselves that secondary school would be a horrible, terrible thing. But, in reality, it was far worse for Jim than it was for me. I managed, by some miracle, to make some halfway-decent friends, but he, on the other hand, wasn't as fortunate. We were in separate classes so we'd meet up and go to the library, just like we used to. I could tell that he didn't like school. He'd sit by himself in lessons and people would never talk to him unless it was to be cruel. As much as I felt sorry for him and wanted to help, there was nothing I could do expect offer a shoulder to cry on, not that he ever cried anyway. We still, almost ritualistically, went to the secret hiding place. It was far away from our new school and well off and road to get hime, but nevertheless we went there.

"I hate this school," he told me one day.

I folded my page in my book and looked at him, "why?"

"They're all so _stupid_ and _boring_. It's driving me mad!" He grasped at his hair like he was trying to rip the thoughts out of his head. I frowned and pulled his hands away gently.

"It's okay. I'm sure it'll get better. We won't always be in school," I said because I didn't know that else to say: I didn't know what to do to make him feel better. It wasn't often he opened up like that.

"But what if it doesn't? What then? What if I always feel like -" he cut himself off suddenly. That was when I realised he wasn't just talking about the school any more.

"Like what?" I prompted him but he just shook his head.

"Nothing, don't worry. Forget I ever said anything."

Regardless of how much I tried to get it out of him, which somehow ended in a tickle fight, he wouldn't tell me.

But I would soon find out anyway.

 **A few weeks** later came the day that is forever tattooed on my memory like the anniversary of something horrible – it rises to the surface of your mind occasionally and pains you to think about but you can't get rid of it no matter how hard you try and you just have to wait for you to be able to stop reliving it.

An assembly was called for the entire school, which never ocured normally, so we knew that something bad had happened. The Headmistress stood at the front of the hall, head bowed.

"I have called you all here today because a dreadful thing has happened to a pupil of this school. Carl Powers, a year 8 student, passed away a few days ago. He suffered an allergic attack and died. I ask you all to show respect and sympathy in this dark time to those who knew him. We will now have a 2 minute silence."

I couldn't believe that someone had died so young, so close to home. Nobody I knew I had ever died before so Carl's death was a shock, even if I hardly knew him.

That afternoon after school, I talked to him about it, "that so horrible... poor, poor Carl," I shook my head.

"I never liked him, he never liked me, so why should I pretend now he's dead?" He shrugged and I gasped.

"Jim! How can you say that? Have some sympathy! He suffered a horrible death, show some compassion," there was a silence.

"Becks..."

"Yeah?"

"I need to tell you something and I need you to promise not to tell anyone, even if you hate me for it and never want to talk to me again, okay?" The big, dark eyes that I had gotten to know very well had a look that I'd never seen before and it terrified me. My heart was dropping with anxiety of the revelation and I almost didn't want to know. Ignorance is bliss after all.

"I promise."

"No matter what?"

"No matter what," I confirmed. He looked at the floor and then back to me.

"I did it. I killed him. I killed Carl Powers."

That was the moment that my world started to collapse, each layer of everything I thought was okay falling to the abyss below one by one, never to be seen again. His words hit me like bullets and they hurt, ripping a hole through me that felt like ti couldn't heal with all the time in the world. I began to cry red hot tears. I couldn't understand how this boy, my best friend that I had know for 4 years, could do this. I felt like I didn't know him any more. I sobbed, speechless.

"He used to pick on me, Becks. He'd call me a freak and then everybody else would too. He laughed at me... so I stopped him laughing," the way he looked at me terrified me. It sent shivers down my spine, "please don't cry, Becca, it's okay, I promise."

"If," I managed to speak over my blubbering, "you could do that to him, _kill him_ , what's stopping you doing it to me?"

He looked horrified, "Rebecca, I would never, ever hurt you. Ever. You're the most important thing in the world to me and I mean that. I would never hurt you, no matter what."

I believed him completely. I had never seen, and still haven't seen, such a look of sincerity and sureness. I nodded at him, "okay," I whispered, "okay. I believe you," after I wiped my tears away, he hugged me close.

"I'm sorry," he murmured in my ear, "you don't deserve to be put through this. You deserve someone better than me as a friend and I'm sorry you've got to put up with me."

I pulled away to look at him, "don't be silly, Jim. I don't put up with you, I enjoy your company," I wondered to myself why I was being so kind to a killer, "but I need you to tell me a few things, I need you to answer my questions honestly. Absolutely no lying."

"Sure, sure, anything."

"Why did you do it? How did you do it? Would you do it again? How long have you felt-"

"I did it because he was a horrible person. I did it by putting a lethal drug in his eczema medication that killed him while he was swimming. Would I do it again? I couldn't say, maybe. It's not out of the question. And how long have I felt like this? My whole life," his eyes burned into mine like they were lava, "and there's nothing I can do to get rid of it."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

A small smile flickered on his lips, "because if I told you if would upset you. And I didn't want to upset you because I care about you. I didn't want to burden you with my problems."

 **I couldn't help** thinking that if he's tole me before I could have helped him and possibly saved Carl. Jim told me that there was nothing I could have done and that I shouldn't blame myself. I obviously still did because I'm human and that's what we do. We came to an agreement that day: Jim wouldn't kil anyone without talking it over with me first and if he felt that way again he had to tell me so that I could help. We agreed that if he broke those rules, I could stop bothering with him completely. He understood that it was hard for me to deal with, so was kind when I lashed out at him or became upset. In the months that followed, he came to me quite a few times and spoke of his homocidal urges. I helped him the best I could, but a 13 year old isn't equipt to be dealing with those sorts of problems. One day, though, he came to me with a different issue.

"Becks, can we talk? I need to tell you something."

"Sure," I forced a smile, silently dreading what was to come, "what's up?"

"Dont' worry, it's not like that," he quickly put my mind at rest and took a deep breath before saying: "Becca, I think I'm bisexual."

I smiled, "Jim, that's great."

"Really? I thought you'd be... I don't know..."

"No, I think it's good that you're discovering this. I'm happy for you," I grinned and patted his back, "really."

"Thanks," he smiled that smiled that I still see today, "just don't tell anyone else, okay? I know what other people can be like."

"Of course, of course," I hugged him quickly, "no matter what."


	4. Boyfriends and Best Friends

**As the years** passed, we began to discover our interests. Jim excelled in literally everything, but particularly maths, English, the sciences and art. He was, and still is when he has the time, a very creative person and very talented with a pencil and paper. I began to develop in music and drama. Jim helped me with things I didn't understand in maths. He must have spent hours gruelling over textbooks with me in total, bless him. I couldn't help it, I was better with my voice than with my brain.

When I was 15, I had my first boyfriend. His name was Luke and I fell hard for him. He was one of the populars and, honestly, was out of my league, so I wanted to hang onto him regardless of the cost. But the cost was, as it turned out, Jim.

He waited for me by the gates, like he always did, for us to both go to the woods. "Ready?" Jim asked and I hesitated, already feeling bad even though I hadn't yet said I word.

"I can't come today, sorry. I'm, uh, going out with Luke. Sorry." I couldn't bear to look poor Jim in the eye, "I'll see you around."

We didn't meet up for a few weeks. I think he still went to the woods and waited for me, which breaks my heart to think about. I was a terrible friend. I treated him badly and I regret it. My immature brain failed to realise that Jim had literally no-one else, so while I was spending time with my new popular boyfriend, Jim was all alone and waiting for me to come back to him. Luke, as I would soon find out, wasn't as great as I thought he was. He may have been the typical blonde hair, blue eyed pretty boy but that didn't make him nice. I, of course, was too naive to see that and thought, for the short and sweet time that we were together for, that he was God's gift to the world, and me in particular. After 5 weeks and 2 days (you always count when you're young), he dumped me. It was completely out of the blue and I was heartbroken. I went to Jim for comfort in my time of need and he, being the patient man he is, gave me all the sympathy I needed, without holding even the tiniest hint of a grudge against me for treating him so badly.

I cried into his lap and he stroked my hair, "I just don't get it!"

"Rebecca, it was me. I made him break up with you."

"What?!" I shot up like a bullet.

"He cheated on you. I saw him with another girl so I told him to break up with you to save you the pain of it going on any longer."

I found out the whole story many years later. Jim was going home after waiting for me in the woods, when he saw Luke kissing Kayleigh, another popular blonde. Jim approached him and said that if he didn't dump me immediately, he'd hurt him. I have been informed by Jim himself that Luke looked terrified and agreed quickly. A day later, I was single. Jim just did it to protect me.

A few days later, Jim and I were in the library at lunch, per usual, talking and eating happily, when a gaggle of teenagers disturbed our serenity. A group of around 7 or 8 populars burst through the doors and gawped at us.

"Oh, look, it's lover boy and his girlfriend making out in the library – how romantic!" A general sound of encouragement came from the group. It was Luke, arm in arm with the girl he cheated on me with: Kayleigh. My heart lunged.

"Leave us alone, Luke," I sighed, eating a crisp.

"To what? So you can get to third base?"

I heard someone mutter something that ended with: "...under the table," and was glad I didn't catch the rest of the sentence.

"Jesus!" Standing up in anger, Jim slammed his hands down on the desk, "Luke, I swear to the God I don't believe in, if you and your brain-dead pack animal friends don't get out of here in the next 8 seconds, I will not only take delight in fracturing some bones of yours, I will also make your girlfriend's face, which already looks like she's 5 and has been playing with her mother's makeup, _considerably_ less prettier, probably by removing some teeth. _Do you understand me?_ " He had moved closer to him by then, and his chest was sticking out and up in the animalistic fight reflex. I was scared. I was shocked. I didn't know what to do.

Luke swallowed, but didn't back down, "you don't own the library. I can go wherever the hell I want."

Maybe it was peer influence that lead to Luke's decision not to give up, or maybe it was just stupidity. Either way, it didn't end well for him.

"Jim, don't," I stood up and tried to calm him, "it's not worth it, really."

He looked at me with a look of the purest determination, "I'm not going to let this inbred imbecile get away with this, or with hurting you. He deserves whatever he gets." Then he turned to Luke, raised his fist, and punched him square in the face. It made a loud noise of what I assumed was his nose breaking. Luke took a few stumbling steps backwards, raising his hand to his bloodied nose and looking shocked. Before anyone had any proper time to react, Jim grabbed him by the throat and held him in midair by it. There were shouts of protest from both me and other populars, but we were all too scared to get involved. I knew that Jim would never purposefully hurt me, but that didn't mean that I could end up getting hit by accident. He threw the cheater against the wall, by his throat, and repeatedly slammed his head on the hard surface again and again and again to the point where I seriously began to worry. I knew that Jim knew the damage that each of his assaults would do, but I started to think that he _wanted_ to cause damage, proper damage, life-long damage. Possibly even life- _threatening_.

"Jim, you'll kill him, stop," I said loudly, as Luke's blood-stained face began to turn purple with the increasing lack of oxygen.

"I know!" He screamed and kneed him where it hurts. He tried to move, to struggle out of his grip, but couldn't overpower him, "that's the godamn point!"

I had to intervene, given that all the populars were just staring and/or filming it. So I grabbed Jim and shook him hard on the side, " _this won't help, James! Let him go, he's dying!_ "

He looked me in the eye and, for a split second, I saw the boy I used to know: the young, innocent Jim. He let Luke go and he fell to the floor, Kayleigh running to his side like she cared. Jim and I just continued to stare at each other. He was breathing hard, shaking with adrenaline, but the thing that scared me, really terrified me to my core, was what his eyes were telling me. His eyes were showing me that he was happy... and that scared me more than anything.

"What on earth is going on here?" The deputy head, Mr Phillips, appeared out of nowhere, "James, Luke, my office _now_." And with that, he disappeared just as quickly as he'd materialised. There was a look of anger and pure hatred exchanged between the boys before they left the library and headed to his room. I didn't see Jim until after school, where we met at the woods, like usual.

"What happened? What did Phillips do?" I asked, sitting up, eager to hear the news.

"Well, he tried to make me apologise."

"And did you?"

"Yes, but only after reminding him that the words 'I'm sorry' are just words and mean absolutely nothing unless there's an emotional significance attached to them, which, in this context and situation, there was not, so me apologising to him accounted for nothing at all, just three syllables wasted on trivial procedure that changes nothing and just inconveniences all involved."

I couldn't stop myself from smiling, "same old Jim."

He grinned lopsidedly, "are we okay?" He asked and I nodded. He looked relieved, "good," he sat down beside me on the sofa and leaned his head on my shoulder, "because you mean a lot to me."

I ran my fingers through his dark hair that was longer than it is now, and stared absently into the distance, hearing a bird caw somewhere near, "you mean a lot to me too and that's why I want you to be okay and keep out of trouble."

"I try," he sighed, "but it's hard."

"I know, I know," I pressed my nose into his hair and closed my eyes, "but promise me you'll try, no matter what."

"I'll try, Becks, no matter what."

"Thank you."

 **I liked those** moments, when we were peaceful and caring and calm and everything was nice. Sadly, though, as we grew older, they became less and less frequent. Jim would stop talking about emotional things all together by the time we were 16. I tried to convince myself that it was because the homicidal thoughts had stopped, but deep down I knew that wasn't the real reason. I knew that he was changing and not for the better.

But I had issues of my own to be dealing with. I had developed, though I wasn't aware at the time, an eating disorder. I went from a UK size 12 to a size 6 in an alarmingly short amount of time and didn't even realise. One day I was complaining about my legs touching when I walked, the next, my ribs were visible. Even if I hadn't noticed, Jim certainly did.

"You're too skinny," he announced one day. I looked at him and frowned.

"No, I'm not. I actually need to lose some weight, especially on my legs-"

"For God's sake, Becks!" He exclaimed, laughing a little in what I assumed was disbelief, "are you having a laugh? You're tiny!"

"Not really..." I sat down, sipping a green tea and burning my mouth slightly because it hadn't cooled down yet. Jim sighed.

"I'm keeping an eye on you," he chucked me a Cadbury's bar, "eat, make me happy."

I reluctantly (and then slightly less reluctantly when I remembered what chocolate tasted like) ate the snack and Jim smiled smugly, "happy?" I asked, sarcasm laced in my voice like fat through a steak.

"Very."

 **As time went** by, Jim began to ice over. That's the best way I can describe it, really: he seemed to freeze. He became distant and emotionless. He hardly spoke. He was callous and it scared me. The silence I once used to find comfort in began to feel sinister, even though there didn't appear to be any reason as to why. The jokes that he used to laugh at, he no longer found funny. He didn't ask about my day any more. He didn't listen to my stories. He didn't care about me any more. The boy that I trusted more than anything or anyone in the whole world and had for 8 years was no longer that boy. He was someone else entirely and I couldn't cope.

"Jim, I need you to tell me what's going on with you because I don't think I can do this any more" I cried one day and he looked at me in alarm, "no matter how much you mean to me, I can't do this."

"What do you mean? What am I doing wrong?"

"You've changed!" I stood up, exclaiming passionately, "you have become someone else. You're always so mean and cruel. You're horrible to other people and even me sometimes. I don't think you even realise, either. You don't talk to me any more and I-"

He suddenly stood up of his own accord and hugged me hard, holding me close to him. His one hand was on my hair and the other was on my back. I instantly gave up on my tantrum and let him embrace me. I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes, blocking the rest of the world out until it was just him left. He did the same. We stayed like this until he murmured he words: "I'm sorry, Becks," and we pulled apart. I wiped a tear or two away before telling him that it was okay and that I forgave him, "I don't know what's going on with me at the moment... I feel different and I don't know why. I don't mean to take it out on you and I'm sorry for that."

"You need to talk to me."

"I will, I promise."

 **"** **Freak!"**

"Ugly!"

"Fat!"

"Thin!"

"Wannabe!"

"Whore!"

I began to cry, the girls' words breaking through the walls I once thought impenetrable. They were the populars that were horrible. They made petty jabs at me until I broke. I stood in the corridor, surrounded by them like they were lions and I was the lamb, sobbing into my hands. Then, suddenly, there were hands on my shoulders.

"What the hell have you done to her?" It was Jim, protecting me like he always had, "huh?!" He made me look at him and said, in a lower tone, "are you alright?" I shook my head and he turned back to the populars, "what the hell did you do?"

"Nothing, _gayboy_ , she's just an oversensitive freak," said Kayleigh, hand on hip.

"Oh, is she? Well," I could tell he was deducing her, "maybe you're bulling her to try and make yourself feel better, because the new figure due to the bulimia hasn't helped. Or maybe you're trying to make her feel as bad as you do because of the abandonment issues you've developed due to your father leaving for the army."

She blinked twice before the tears started, "how do you know that? Nobody knows that!"

He smiled, his arm around me protectively, "you made her cry so I have to make you cry. Karma, my darling, isn't always nice."

The girls huddled around her as Jim took me away from them, into the bathroom. We both sat on the cubicle floor, "thank you..." I whispered.

"What did they say to you?" He wiped my tears away with his thumbs and looked at me head-on, his eyes intense and caring. I repeated their comments and his eyes darkened, "don't listen to them. They're jealous," he hugged me close to him and I cried into his chest as he stroked my hair, "I wish I could hurt them for making you feel like this," he sounded really angry, "you're so lovely and your deserve to be treated with nothing but love and respect, not hate."

I said nothing and let him hug me until I stopped crying and we returned to lessons late and made up a reason why.


End file.
